


dear john/white horse

by groove_bunker



Series: Please Ignore the Pronouns [fanmix fic] [8]
Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Drabble, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 23:27:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groove_bunker/pseuds/groove_bunker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're not under her spell anymore.<br/>Until you are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dear john/white horse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shadowcrawler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowcrawler/gifts).



The first few weeks that Myka’s half way across the country, you try to retain some sense of a friendship. Because, you tell yourself, she was the best friend you could ever have. But eventually, the two hours time difference seem to become too much and every time you pick up the phone, it becomes less and less like the phone calls you’re used to.

One day, you pick up the phone and listen to Myka ramble on for half an hour about how much she hates her English Literature professor and it’s like she’s in the room again, like you’ve got your Myka back.

The next night, she calls you at 3am, drunk, as she walks home from a party. She talks about how you met her at a party and that this party was just so much better, but that she misses you and wishes you were there to dance with her, even though the stars in Massachusetts weren’t like the stars in South Dakota.

It’s not the first time you’ve cried yourself to sleep since she left but you decide it will be the last. You stop accepting her calls, delete her from all your social networks. She emails almost every day for two weeks and Pete calls you up to check that you’re not dead. But eventually, she gets the picture, or stops caring. You’re no longer woken up at 3am by your phone ringing and the emails stop. She sends the occasional letter, but they remain unread, sitting in a pile under your bed.

After a month, it still hurts, but you’re beginning to feel like you’re not just a pawn in some game she’s playing. You’re no longer under her spell.

\---

When she knocks on your door, you’re expecting Claudia. You’re meant to be helping your friend with her homework and, unlike before, that’s all you’ll talk about. The last few months, since Myka dropped everything for Harvard, have been tough on everyone. That it’s been especially hard on you is the white elephant in the room every time she comes up.

Myka’s standing at your front door, her face unreadable. She’s wrapped up in an Harvard sweater that smells faintly of cologne and your heart breaks a little more because you know it’s not hers. And of course someone like Myka has found someone else, leaving you behind in this small town with your memories and your broken heart.

“You’re home?”

“Spring break. Because why go to Florida when you can come back to Univille?”

You’re aware that you’re still standing in the doorway, not letting her through, not letting her back in. You don’t know what to say to her anymore, all the words you had have been rehearsed too many times in a mirror and now they don’t sound the same.

“I missed you. I wrote.”

The odd letter, written in handwriting that you know as well as your own, hidden for the safekeeping of your sanity under your bed. Yes, she wrote, but that doesn’t make up for what she did.

“It’s too late.”

“Too late for what, Helena?”

“Too late for you to come back and apologise.”

“Have you...met someone?”

You try to fight the anger that bubbles up inside you, and for the first time in a long time, you fail. You take a step towards her and start running your mouth, telling her all you wished you’d told her three months ago when she left you on the porch.

“There wasn’t ever anyone else. It’s too late because you broke my heart once and then again and again without even realising it. Do you remember all those drunken phone calls where you told me you missed me and that I should come see you so we could dance together? You messed me around, Myka, and I don’t want to hear excuses or apologies. It’s too late.”

All you hear is her footsteps, walking away from you. 


End file.
